


The 411

by Daisiestdaisy (Doyle)



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle/pseuds/Daisiestdaisy
Summary: He has to hand it to Peter, he really is masterfully maintaining the illusion that he’s not even looking in Gavin’s direction. No matter how often Gavin glares over at him, he hasn’t yet seen him look back.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiscoSheets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscoSheets/gifts).



> Lena talked about Gavin and Peter using [beeper codes](http://www.hal0gen.com/archive/anarkia/411_beeper.html) back in the day, which is so perfect for tech industry nerds in a secret relationship that I had to write it.

This year’s Disrupt is a washout, and not just because Gavin’s new spiritual advisor has found himself unable to get a flight back from Monte Carlo in time. The finalists are a woeful collection – Patrice is diligently taking notes behind him but none of this crap is even worth stealing, let alone buying, the best of a bad bunch some taxi app with a German name he can’t see catching on – and, worse than that, the idiot in charge of this conference scheduled him and Peter on the same judging panel. Gavin’s too much of a professional to make a scene, of course. He’s sent Jared and Rogelio to the organizer’s office to make a scene on his behalf. He assumes the two seats behind Peter are empty because Ms Hall and the other one are doing the same.

He has to hand it to Peter, he really is masterfully maintaining the illusion that he’s not even looking in Gavin’s direction. No matter how often Gavin glares over at him, he hasn’t yet seen him look back.

“...making the world a better place through a new paradigm for cab travel,” says the CEO on the stage, and the Powerpoint slide behind him (Gavin docks him a point on his score sheet for not using Hooli Office) switches to a stock image of a woman on the phone, hand at her temple, face pained with the difficulty of ordering her cab. She’s squinting at a company card, a fake name and logo and number poorly Photoshopped across whatever was originally there.

The number they’ve made up is 555-345-8976 and Gavin has to fake a coughing fit to cover his surprised laugh. Okay. So nobody in this company is old enough to remember pagers or the elaborate system of coded messages that could be sent with them. That, or they deliberately put the message _I need sex, I’m always horny_ into what could be the most important presentation in their company’s lifespan.

He can’t help it, he has to sneak a look at Peter, because _he_ at least knows exactly what’s on the screen. Peter was fluent in those damn codes. Something about the efficiency, the directness, just worked for him. And safer than letters or emails, of course, where they both had to be careful not to write down anything that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. To this day there are still strings of digits Gavin can’t see without flushing.

Peter is watching the presentation with his hands folded on his lap and a thoughtful, concentrating look on his face. But there’s the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth, small enough to be invisible to anyone who didn’t know to look for it. Which would be almost everyone. Very few people seem to get how funny Peter is. Gavin’s never understood that.

And then Peter looks over at him, finally, his dark eyes knowing and amused, and it’s... it’s almost like sharing an inside joke again. Just for a second, before Peter looks back to the stage.

The taxi company CEO finally finishes, to applause from the audience that covers up Gavin’s phone buzzing. The message, from a contact currently saved as “fucking asshole DO NOT answer” – their last encounter, two months ago, was somewhat fraught – just says "606". _Bitch_.

Gavin is furiously keying in the digits that mean _grow up, asshole_ and trying to remember if there’s a code for _also I stand by everything I said both two and six months ago_ when another message appears: "My room is 606."

Peter is very deliberately not looking at him.

606, Gavin knows, is the presidential suite, which is a nicer one than his, which Jared is going to have to have words with the hotel manager about. But that can wait.


End file.
